


What Happens on Mimas

by SugarCrystal



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Cyberpunk, M/M, Prostitution, Slightly dark comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 08:51:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14565423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarCrystal/pseuds/SugarCrystal
Summary: Lister decides to make some money during planet leave with Rimmer. Silly thing, not to be taken too seriously.





	What Happens on Mimas

**Author's Note:**

> It's been some time since I read IWCD so I hope I've remembered the general idea of Mimas correctly.

Lister walked casually down the neon-drenched streets of Mimas city centre with a six pack of lager under one arm and a plain carrier bag in the other hand. A twitchy Rimmer followed behind, looking skittishly from side to side every so often, you had to be careful on Mimas.

"You can't go down there, Listy," he squawked as Lister turned left at the intersection. "That's the red light district!"

"How do you know?" Lister smirked, remembering the man in a stolen officer's uniform and false moustache he had once met here who had looked uncannily like his bunkmate. Though Rimmer insisted that it certainly hadn't been him and must have just been some guy who looked like him, thank you.

"I..., I..., well, I have been to Mimas before, you know. Quite often. Just because I've never set foot in the red light district doesn't mean I don't know where it is," Rimmer bluffed his way out of the question.

Lister shrugged and grinned. "Okay, man, whatever you say." 

"Where are you going?!" Rimmer shrieked. "Come back here at once!" When Lister didn't, Rimmer gave in and followed him. He had to make sure the little goit didn't get into any trouble after all.

"What are you doing, Lister?" he protested, walking along behind him.

"What d'ya normally do in the red light district, Rimmer?" Lister grinned, obviously trying to make Rimmer uncomfortable.

Rimmer silently scowled and wondered if there was any possible way he could put Lister on report for something during planet leave.

"Only I'm not looking for a hookup. Or drugs," he added quickly before Rimmer could accuse him of anything. "The opposite actually, I'm looking for a booth."

"A what?"

Lister strolled over to a nearby kiosk and leaned on the counter. "Got any empty booths?" he enquired of the scarlet-haired, tattooed woman who was manning it.

She looked the pair of them up and down. "For...?"

"Just me," said Lister quickly. "He's just a mate and he'll be leaving in a minute."

"I don't even know what's going on here," Rimmer added.

The woman shrugged. "Couple spare right now. How much money you got and how long d'ya want it for?"

"Three hours," Lister decided. "What's the cheapest?"

"Forty dollarpounds per hour."

"Brutal," Lister agreed and handed over $£120.

The booth turned out to be a small plain white windowless room furnished with a basic white bed, a shelf, a plastic wastebasket and nothing else. There was a small door beside the bed with a toilet symbol on it and a control panel for adjusting the lighting and temperature.

Lister made a disappointed sound. "I was hoping for something a bit fancier, maybe some leopard print, few more pillows, curtains. But I guess you get what you pay for."

"There's no one in here," Rimmer remarked.

"No," Lister clarified. "There isn't supposed to be. I just park myself in here and wait for clients."

Rimmer's face went through several expressions as he tried to figure things out. "Let me get this straight," he said eventually. "You are going to spend the evening prostituting yourself?"

"Yep," Lister replied casually. "You can do that around here."

"Why?!" Rimmer demanded, not unreasonably under the circumstances. "Why on Io would you _want_ to do that?"

"Firstly, I haven't got laid for ages and I'm smegging horny. Secondly, it's money, _untaxed cash in hand_ , and I could do with more money to put towards...," Lister trailed off, he hadn't told Rimmer about his farm on Fiji idea yet as he suspected Rimmer would just laugh at it. "Something I'm saving up for," he dismissed airily. "And thirdly, I've got nothing else to do right now. Hell, there isn't much _to_ do on Mimas that isn't sex or drugs or gambling."

"That's not true," Rimmer protested. "There's shops, there's decent bars and restaurants, there's places you can go dancing, or bowling or play snooker." Not activities Rimmer was interested in himself, at least not when sober, but that wasn't the point of the argument.

"Yeah, but that's not what _most_ people come here for, is it?" Lister winked at him. 

"I've told you before, that bloke you saw wasn't me!"

Lister rolled his eyes impatiently. "Whatever! The point is, when it comes to prostitution, you can either be the client or you can be the hooker. You get the sex either way, the question is; who gets the money?"

"I see," said Rimmer, having no real response to that statement. "Well, do you really think you'll have much luck?" he queried. "I mean, as you say, there's a lot of people selling sex around here. You don't really stand out much as anything special."

"I smartened myself up, didn't I?"

"If that's what you call it." Lister had taken a brief shower, brushed his teeth and worn clean socks and his least-stained clothes.

Rimmer, on the other hand, had just worn his uniform. He didn't have much in the way of casual clothes and generally felt more comfortable in the uniform anyway.

Lister stashed his six-pack of lager under the bed, then straightened up and examined himself in the mirror. "Not bad," he smirked to his reflection.

Rimmer twitched. Lister was always 'not bad', he had to admit, if you ignored the grubbiness and smell of curry. "You're really going to do this?" he sniffed disapprovingly, to cover himself.

"Yep," Lister smiled filthily. "It's Mimas. What happens on Mimas stays on Mimas, Rims." He sat on the bed and bounced a few times, testing the mattress.

"Right, fine, it's up to you," Rimmer conceded. "It's your body, it's your free time, it's your reputation. It just seems like a very bad idea to me, miladdo. What if you get hurt? What if you end up with a client who gets off on hurting you, hmm? Or someone posing as a client to get in here so they can knock you out and steal all your money? Or a murderer?" he added pointedly. "That's always a risk in the sex trade, isn't it? Or what if a normal prozzer decides you're stealing their customers and comes along to rearrange your face? There's all sorts of things that could go wrong."

"Relax," Lister sighed. "You see that?" He indicated a large, red button next to the control panel. "That's a panic button. There's a security guard at each end of the row. If there's any trouble you can't handle, you just hit the button and one of them'll come running. That's part of what you're paying for a booth for."

"Fine," Rimmer agreed, feeling slightly reassured. "Go ahead then. And what am _I_ supposed to do while you're in here?"

"That's up to you," Lister shrugged. "See the sights, have a drink. Go to an android brothel," he added pointedly.

"How many times?! That wasn't me!"

"Whatever," Lister replied casually. He emptied out his carrier bag, tipping assorted condoms and lubricants over the bed, Rimmer sniffed at the sight of them.

"Why do they bother to make that stuff in flavours?" he demanded as Lister stacked them on the shelf. "You're not supposed to eat it!"

Lister stuffed the carrier bag in the bin, stripped down to his t-shirt and jeans and leant casually against the door of the booth. "How do I look?"

"Like a total slob," Rimmer replied easily. "Well, I'll see you later, I suppose."

He made himself scarce as Lister scouted the street for potential clients. That guy looked promising, he decided, the tall, slim, brown-haired guy with a slightly nervous expression. He caught the man's eye and did his best winning smile.

Rimmer found the first pub that didn't look too sleazy and ordered a white wine. It arrived in what was still referred to, out of tradition, as a glass but was actually made of plastic so that it couldn't be used as a weapon.  
He sat at the bar nervously sipping it and trying to relax, but he couldn't. He was too worried about Lister to relax. Not that he cared if anything bad happened to the little goit, he told himself quickly, it was just that it was his neck on the line if anything happened to the technician who worked under him whilst they were on planet leave together. Yes, that's right, Rimmer would get the blame, wouldn't he? So, he had a good reason to be worried, right? There were other things to worry about too, he didn't like the way that large, hairy guy in the cowboy hat was looking at him for a start. Of course he couldn't relax. He swigged the rest of the wine down in one gulp and ordered a second one.

Lister smiled reassuringly as he straddled his client. "Comfortable, babe?" he asked gently.

The man nodded nervously.

"So what would you like me to do?"

The man swallowed hard. "Just..., the usual," he stammered. "Nothing..., weird. Please."

Lister grinned. He'd been a little more concerned about this than he'd let on in front of Rimmer but it looked like it was going to be easy.

Rimmer finished his second drink and left the bar. Now what? Maybe Lister was right, maybe he _should_ go to an android brothel, it was Mimas, after all. He didn't have a borrowed officer's uniform or a false moustache on him this time but there wasn't really any need for a disguise, as long as he didn't see anyone he knew. Perhaps he could finally pluck up the courage to ask for a male droid this time, he wondered, one with soft brown skin and deep, dark, expressive eyes..., he gave himself a mental slap. No, that was a terrible idea.  
He decided to stick to the busy and better-lit areas where you were less likely to get mugged and kept a tight grip on his wallet in case anyone tried to pick his pocket. To try and take his mind off of Lister, he browsed the window of the nearest sex shop with a mixture of interest, disgust and bafflement, trying to figure out what half the objects on display were even for.  
Maybe he should get something to eat, except he wasn't hungry enough to go to a restaurant and he didn't trust the hygiene standards of the snack kiosks.  
He sat on an uncomfortable plastic bench and helped himself to a free newspaper. Other than adverts for sex workers, fast food and taxi services, it was full of reports about crime, which wasn't reassuring. Then a guy in a raincoat with what looked like blood stains on it wandered over and tried to sell him drugs, so he decided to go and find somewhere else to sit.  
After sitting outside a sushi bar, nervously jiggling his legs, for half an hour, he decided to go back and check up on Lister.

Arriving back at the red light district, he took a deep breath and strode down the main street, staring straight ahead and trying not to catch anyone's eye.

"Hello, gorgeous," a hooker with purple hair and alarmingly large breasts accosted him, resting her purple-taloned hand on his chest, and he almost fell backwards into the gutter.

He blurted out what he hoped was the Esperanto for, 'Sorry, I don't speak English' and she gave him a baffled look and then shrugged and turned to the next guy. Rimmer fled to the street Lister was in.

As Lister opened the door to let out the tall, sandy-haired man in a pristine Space Corps uniform, he was surprised to see Rimmer hanging around again. Rimmer gave the man an irritated look before turning to Lister.

"What are you doing back here?" Lister asked.

"Checking up on you, miladdo," Rimmer sniffed. "Making sure you haven't been robbed and left for dead."

"Aww, Rimsy, you _do_ care about me," Lister smirked.

"No, I don't," Rimmer protested. "It's all the same to me if you get yourself murdered, I just don't want to be blamed for letting you put yourself in harm's way. Or have to deal with all the paperwork."

"You're so sweet," Lister snarked.

"Made any money yet?" Rimmer enquired in a change of subject.

"340 dollarpounds so far," Lister smirked. 

"How much?!" Rimmer yelped. "What on Io are you charging?"

"Twenty for oral, fifty for full sex. Anything else is negotiable."

Rimmer twitched. "That's the going rate around here, is it?"

"Most of the people in this row are charging more. I'm an amateur so it's best not to overshoot myself, right?" 

"Very wise," Rimmer deadpanned.

"Minus the cost of the booth, that's a $£220 profit," Lister continued. "Told you it was lucrative, I've earned almost a week's worth of Z-Shift wages in less than two hours."

"By being a shameless little goit," Rimmer sniffed. "Well, as long as you're okay, I'll just...," he jerked his head in the direction of the end of the street.

"Yep, off you go, Rimsy. See you later."

It was okay, Rimmer told himself as he walked away. Lister was fine, he hadn't been hurt and there were security guards keeping watch. He was fine, Rimmer could stop worrying.  
As long as Lister was safe, if he wanted to spend the evening being pounded up the arse by strangers for money, that was _his_ smegging concern - wasn't it? Rimmer twitched at the thought. What exactly had that poncey goit just now seen? And how many others had there been tonight? Rimmer pictured Lister naked on all fours with his legs spread open, offering up his gorgeous round arse to an endless array of smug gits, or on top and gazing down at the bastards with those deep brown eyes. He mentally slapped himself again. He should go and find another bar, have some more wine.  
Yes, that was a good idea. Have a few more glasses....,

Lister leant against the doorway, watching the last client, who had dark wavy hair and a posh voice, disappear down the road and swigged from his last can of lager. He was feeling somewhat worn out but also very sexually satisfied, plus he had a wad of cash in his pocket that he hadn't had at the start of the evening _and_ he had proven Rimmer wrong.  
The countdown timer on the wall bleeped as it reached the ten minute mark to let him know his three hours were almost up. Just enough time for one more maybe, if they were quick, and then he'd have to leave.

He heard someone arrive behind him and turned around with a winning smile, only to see Rimmer again, looking rather twitchy. He didn't appear to be drunk, exactly, but he had clearly been drinking.

"Hey, Rims."

"Er, Listy..., erm, look...," Rimmer muttered, avoiding looking at him. "What..., what you said earlier? 'What happens on Mimas stays on Mimas'?" He focused his gaze on his fingers, twisting them around each other nervously. "Did you mean that whatever happens here will never be mentioned again once we're back on the ship?"

"Yeah, basically," Lister shrugged and took another swig of lager.

" _Whatever_?" Rimmer clarified.

"Yeah," said Lister slowly, wondering where this was going.

" _Promise_?"

"Yeah...,"

Rimmer took a deep breath and, still deliberately avoiding Lister's eye, dug something out of his pocket and stuffed it into Lister's hand. Lister looked down in bewilderment and found a crumpled fifty dollarpound note.

" _Oh_!" he realised, then looked up at the scarlet-faced Rimmer and smiled broadly. "Okay. Okay, Rimmer." He pocketed the money, then reached out and caught Rimmer by the wrist. "Come on then." Lister pulled him into the booth, locking the door after them.

Hey, what happened on Mimas stayed on Mimas.


End file.
